the perfect scene, but huh?
“No more camping!” I said to my husband, Christopher, “too much work.”
“If I did the dishes would you do pots and pans?” he asked.
Visualizing the two of us working together, our children roasting marshmallows, the campfire light flickering over their sweet little faces, “Sure.” We planned our next trip.
As we were checking out our campsite and stretching our legs, “I’ll be right back,” he disappeared down the gravel road. Christopher returned with a bag from the camp store, filled with paper plates and plastic silverware.
Why did I feel duped?
When its too much
when its not enough
when its not okay
when running away is not an option
then its still too much
then you remember
there always comes a time
when everything is all right.
Recently, I grabbed into the tool drawer for a phillip’s screwdriver and by golly I had in my hand, a phillip’s screwdriver. Now that broke all kinds of Murphy’s Law screwdriver records. For the last 15 years or so, if I needed a flat-head the only kind around would be phillip’s. If I needed a phillip’s, the only kind I could find would be a flat-head. That’s just the way it is and life has been much more pleasant when I accepted that is how it’s going to go.
I really began to worry if the world was all right when I reached for a pair of work gloves and there actually was a right one and a left one at the top of the pile. Not two rights or two lefts, a pair and even the same brand!
I must have stepped through a time loop into a parallel universe. This just never happens. I hope everything is all right back at the home planet.
“Where will I go when I die? Will it hurt? How will I cope with leaving all I have loved?” Questions the terminally ill whisper softly into the dark of night and tuck deeply into a shirt pocket by day; close to the heart.
Having this reality in common is delicately beautiful and the most sacred bond between friends I have ever known.
In the middle of the road my clutch went out today. Immediately, a man on his bicycle stopped to push me off the road. Only a few steps later, another guy pulled up and joined him, then another and then another. It was about 5 minutes, 50 yards later and I was safe in a parking lot.
How could I call it a bad day?
It’s tastes awful. I don’t like it. After my recent birthday I’ve decided I am now old enough to make my own decisions.
No more bread crust.
Standing in line for a bite to eat I heard a friendly voice behind me call out, “Hey babe!” I spun around with an expectant look on my face to see who was flirting with me, only to realize it was a younger man talking on the phone to his wife
Maybe I should just be grateful that I am still so optimistic.